I love being gripped. Big, firm handfuls that make me feel owned. Large, bruising grabs that make me whimper, that make me wet with desire. TSH took a picture, a teaser of what he could possibly do next… It was fun!
I still don’t like my squishy bits, particularly round my tummy. But whether I like it or not, it’s all me, every single bit and whether I lose or gain weight, there’s some things that won’t change. There’s bits of me that are genetically wired and I need to learn to accept them: my build is part of my collective history, a line of ancestry that goes back for generations. There’s been some fierce, strong women in my family and I should be proud of that and wear my body like a badge of honour. Adjusting my thinking to this will take time, but I’ll get there, it’s already happening.
I can normally sleep for England but I woke up around 3.30 this morning and couldn’t back to sleep. I read for a while and then got up, folding a load of washing before sitting outside with a cup of tea. The birds were tweeting but there was no other noise. No traffic, no neighbours, no nothing. Bliss!
It was a late night and I was a bit drunk, getting half undressed before flopping onto the bed. It was too hot to get under the sheets and TSH couldn’t resist taking a few photos.
Another lazy Sunday and I can hear lawns being mowed, from where I’m lying in bed. I could get up, but then there are better things to do…